


ebb & flow

by FreeTheSoul



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls I
Genre: Hand Jobs, Introspection, Light Bondage, Non-Penetrative Sex, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:22:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24977596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreeTheSoul/pseuds/FreeTheSoul
Summary: Consumption was all the Abyss knew, and Artorias would let it sate this thirst.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	ebb & flow

**Author's Note:**

> for my dear brim, and all the support they give me ♡

When Artorias awakes, he finds himself drifting in a lightless space.

Awareness comes to him slowly, as if he had been roused from a long and pleasant dream. He cannot immediately discern that he is lying down, overcome by an odd weightlessness and without anything to ground him. There is nothing to illuminate the space — when he tries to move to gain his bearings he finds that he cannot, his limbs restricted by something immaterial, and panic suddenly seizes his chest.

With dawning awareness, he realizes where he must be — the heart of the Abyss itself. 

He cannot remember how he had ended up here, nor much at all beyond a necessary trip to Oolacile to fix — or perhaps continue delaying the inevitable of — its increasingly dire situation. His memories felt hazy and distant, as if he were trying to reach out to grab something far away. He had surely been separated from Sif, at some point, and he lacked the familiar weight of his sword and shield on his person. The sudden realization that he is wholly defenseless has his stomach lurching. 

Yet, with peculiar certainty, he does not feel as if he is in danger. For all the perils he has faced in his struggle against the Dark, none of it is present in this isolated space. Faced with such calmness, Artorias finds himself increasingly detached from his concerns. 

There is only him and the darkness coalescing around him, thick and all-encompassing. It felt much like being held by something far greater than he, a secure embrace that weighed down his exhausted body. He could no longer summon the desire to wrest himself free from its grasp and, exhaling, he closed his eyes and relaxed into the presence that surrounded him. Laying here amidst its endless churning, feeling it crawl tenderly across his body, made his soul nearly waver in the face of its own insignificance.

He had toiled for long, so very long, against the Dark, and all it had left him with was a tiredness that now spread through his entire being. A brief respite was all he wanted — he was not giving up, he reassured himself hollowly, but simply resting for a moment. As his body slackened into the Abyss beneath him, he allowed it to ooze through the cracks in his armor, cool against his skin.

As if in response to his submission, the Abyss began to shift; first in subtle ripples, then gradually taking form. As its newly-made appendages spread across his body, Artorias kept his eyes closed and allowed the Abyss to take him.

The tendrils of the Abyss were cool but not cold; slick and inhuman but not unpleasant. They explored his armor with a curiosity that bordered on innocence, leaving behind a wet residue as they coiled around his arms, his waist. There was no scent to the Abyss, nor was there light, or warmth, or anything other than the tendrils probing Artorias’s body that demanded his attention so. In a space so otherwise devoid of sensation, the peculiar pressure was welcome as it explored further down his body, and he let this feeling consume him.

A particularly large appendage found its way between his legs, coaxing his thighs apart just enough to slide between them. He groaned quietly as it rubbed against his crotch, suddenly aware that he was half-hard, and the pressure was gentle yet persistent as the tendril twined itself down one of his legs. His pleasure seemed secondary to its curious desires to explore, leaving Artorias to desperately roll his hips against the thick, firm mass. 

Carnal desperation rose to the forefront of his hazy consciousness as he struggled to move his arm. It felt leaden, almost as if he were underwater, but as the Abyss yielded the limb to him he was suddenly able to move it freely again. With an increasing sense of need he found himself fumbling one-handedly at his belt, blessedly managing to undo the buckle and pulling himself free from his leggings.

Artorias stroked himself to full hardness, warmth building in the pit of his stomach and his eyes fluttering open as he rubbed a thumb over his head. As if the Abyss could sense his need, a thin tendril crept down from his arm to wrap around his cock, the coolness a pleasant contrast against how hot he felt under his layers of armor. He leaned into the feeling as it rubbed in tandem with his hand, pace unhurried.

Another appendage found its way under his hood and to his lips, pushing past them and into his mouth where he took it without resistance. It tasted like nothing despite its slickness, curling loosely around his tongue and encouraging him to groan out loud, the sound swallowed by the nothingness around him. The other tendrils coiled around his body, snakelike and more than he could concentrate on counting as they held him down into the thick sludge-like substance below him. 

He could feel the Abyss’s dark slime seep through the fabric under his armor as he touched himself, the substance odd but not unpleasant against his cock. The Dark was greedy in its hunger for that bestial rapture, nearly overpowering him as it tightened insistently around his body. Artorias’s breath came out in ragged huffs as his hand moved, the friction of his gauntlets lending itself to this sudden and uncompromising desire for more.

How depraved was he, to find satisfaction like this? A wave of guilty heat spread through him and settled pleasantly in his gut. Rather than repulse him, the thought had his hips bucking traitorously into his hand, and he groped himself with renewed desperation in response.

The building heat seemed to plateau, leaving him yearning for release as he gasped around the thick appendage teasing his tongue. He rolled his wrist at the same time that a tendril squeezed around his cock, and suddenly something seemed to snap— it hit Artorias like a sudden crescendo and, even as his hand stiffened and went slack, the Abyss stroked his length through his orgasm. His thighs tensed and stuttered as he came on his own palm, a gasping, broken moan pulling itself from his throat as he shut his eyes. 

Artorias’s chest heaved, left breathless and hot in the wake of his climax. The appendage in his mouth withdrew, wet as it brushed against his cheek in a sort of caress. The rest of the Abyss’s tendrils restraining his body slackened and, while they did not wholly retreat, allowed him a certain freedom. For a moment he simply lay prone, allowing the diminishing afterglow to wash over him until he finally felt enough clarity to move. Artorias fumbled to tuck himself back into his chausses, leaving his belt undone and feeling no great urge to tidy himself more than the bare minimum. 

Hazily, Artorias brought his hand up close so he could see it in the darkness; the sight of his own cum mixing with the inky blue-black of the Abyss was equally fascinating and dizzying. It was deeply wrong, he knew, but the pleasant afterglow that had settled in his tired limbs quelled the worry and replaced it with an odd complacency. It was not something he wanted to think about now; he shut his eyes as he allowed his hand to slip back to his side and into the Dark as if it were a shallow puddle.

Artorias exhaled as he leaned back into the swirling Abyss, feeling the way his body ached. Tied to his duties as he was, it had been so very long since he had last indulged in something so selfish— in fact, it felt as if an age had passed since the last time he had been free from the burden of the Dark. He felt, above all, tired of the endless fight, tired of his ever-piling failures. 

The Abyss, now, was a comfort despite their conflict. The Dark held him as it would a lover, its tendrils weaving playfully between his fingers with an affection that soothed his time-worn soul. It wanted more from him than this, he was certain, but he had been worn so thin that he felt he had no more to give. Artorias felt himself fading, his consciousness ebbing into soft nothingness as the Dark swayed around him. 

Perhaps it would not hurt to rest, if only for a moment. The fight would be there and waiting for him again when he woke.

**Author's Note:**

> the abyss often gets characterized only as something violent and extreme, which it certainly can be, but — especially with the fragments in ds2 — we see that it can also be possessive and trap individuals with what is, at first, a tender love. so i wanted to explore a gentler facet with how it caught artorias. or something. its pwp.
> 
> thanks for reading! this was fun to write. comments/kudos deeply appreciated!


End file.
